


Touch Me And You'll Sink

by AriRashkae



Series: Red vs Blue Bingo War 2017 [9]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, RvB Bingo War 2017, Sex Pollen For Chorus, Team: Medic, Temple of Procreation, usual warnings of the dub-con common to this trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriRashkae/pseuds/AriRashkae
Summary: For the Medic square "Temple of Procreation"





	Touch Me And You'll Sink

“Did Santa say ‘the people of this planet?’” Emily mused over breakfast one morning.

Everyone at the table stopped, utensils in various stages of eating. “What do you mean?” Wash asked.

She shook herself, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Oh! I was wondering if the Temple of Procreation could help get our livestock and wildlife to hurry up and breed! The poor things that are left have just been so stressed by everything that their cycles are _all_ out of whack. And I don’t know about you but –” she gestured to her plate “–I’m awfully tired of fish.”

The “Heroes of Chorus” all looked to each other. Simmons looked up, trying to remember. “He said, ‘send the inhabitants of the planet into a sexual frenzy,’” he recited.

“Well, then! We just _have_ to ask!” Emily’s tone turned chipper at the prospect of a meal consisting of _anything_ other than plant protein and seafood. There were scout groups constantly on the lookout for stable hunting and foraging grounds, until they got their farms up and running again, but not much of their wild or domestic stocks had survived the war as food proved more and more scarce. “If there’s a way to dial in the Temple’s effects to certain animals, it would be _very_ useful!”

Tucker shrugged. “Fuck, I’m game. No offense to the cooks, but if I never see another piece of seaweed on my plate, I’ll die happy.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time since I had a nice, hot hunk of beef laid out in front of me!” Donut added.

Everyone just groaned and resumed eating.

 

Three days later, Tucker and Kimball were standing before the Temple of Procreation, staring up.

And up.

And _up._

“I swear to God, if you make any size comparisons or compensation jokes,” Kimball said pleasantly, “I will kill you and take the Key for myself.”

“Right, no jokes about alien insecurities. Got it.” Tucker skipped back with a laugh when she glared at him.

She sighed and shook her head. “Let’s just find out if this will work.”

“And that’s my cue.” Tucker pulled the hilt off his thigh and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, sent the twin streams of plasma out as if cracked from a whip.

It had taken him days of practicing (and maybe there were a few walls with new holes in them), but he was pretty proud of the maneuver. After all, if you were going to be activating the Temples that were going to save the world, you had to do it with _style_.

From the set of Kimball’s shoulders, she wasn’t all that impressed. Her loss. She was the one who decided to be his babysitter, after all.

Somehow, word had spread that Tucker was going to try to get the Temple to increase all the meat stocks. “Somehow,” indeed. Gossip was the only thing in the Universe that didn’t need slipspace to move faster than light. By the time breakfast was over, the whole army knew. Tucker had already hit the Temple of Bountiful Harvest last month, and the first crops were coming in nicely, but almost everyone was long past sick of only having only fish and vegetables.

(The medical team was thrilled that everyone was finally getting the proper amount of minerals and fiber, but even they were eager for something different.)

Everyone – except Tucker but they were ignoring him – had agreed that until they knew where Locus had fucked off to, Tucker wasn’t to go out alone. So he had at least one escort no matter how simple the job seemed. (He wasn’t sure if being saddled with Sarge or Palomo had been worst.)

Kimball had declared she was going with him this time. She said that she should be present, since ultimately the decision was her responsibility, whether it worked or not.

Privately, Tucker thought she was jumping at an excuse to get away from the migraines peace had brought. Running an army fighting for survival was very different from trying to build a peaceful, _functioning_ society out of what Charon had left them.

(There was also the nice little fantasy that she had wanted to be _with_ him, just in case they screwed up and the Temple pollened everyone. He didn’t dare mention it – he still remembered her threat by the lake – but it was a fun idea.)

“Lavernius Tucker.”

The alien AI materialized in front of them. Tucker sketched a salute with the Key. “Hey, Santa.”

He could _hear_ Kimball roll her eyes behind him.

“Are you here to activate the Temple of Procreation?”

“Yeah … about that.” Tucker looked back at Kimball, but she just folded her arms and nodded for him to continue. Great. No pressure.

He cleared his throat. “This … whatever this thing does. Does it only work on people? Or will all the animals all start fucking like they’re bunnies?”

Santa tilted his head. “My creators built this Temple should they ever need to supplement a failing population. However, the field was tuned for them, and will need to be recalibrated for humans.”

“So it can be changed. Good.” Kimball finally stepped forward. “We want to target our livestock. We need them breeding as soon as possible.”

The AI shifted his focus to her. “You are not concerned about how your own numbers have diminished?”

“Humans tend to have notions about consent,” she responded drily. “And most of the people left are young enough that they’ll manage just fine on their own.”

“Yeah, we just want to kickstart the animals so we can get something other than fish sometime before the next ship decides to show up,” Tucker added. “So, uh, how do we do this?”

“The controls are within the center of the Temple. You can adjust the field’s target from there.”

“Great! Let’s get this show on the road!”

Several hours and a few false starts later (and there was _definitely_ not a moment where Tucker almost activated the Temple to affect _only_ humans, and he would swear to that to his grave) they had managed to dial it to anything warm-blooded that wasn’t human. They’d tried to get it more precise than that, so they wouldn’t have to listen to Grif freak out over an explosion of bats, but that was they best they could manage.

Whatever. Simmons freaking out over snakes would have been way worse, and Tucker _definitely_ didn’t want spiders and bugs crawling out of the walls. Grif would just have to deal.

“Goodbye, fish and hello, steak and chicken cordon bleu!” Tucker crowed, stabbing the Key through the glowing symbol in front of him.

“Tucker–”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He waved his free hand at Kimball, as the light started pulsing softly. “It’s going to be months before any of them are old enough to eat. Let a man dream, okay?” She huffed a laugh, but didn’t argue.

The Temple started humming in time with the pulsing of the light. The light grew brighter and brighter in time with the sound’s rise in pitch and volume. Just as both sensations became almost painful, the light burst and shot through the walls – and presumably beyond. In the silence that followed, the shadows were almost eerie.

“Did we do it?” Kimball asked softly.

“We did something.” Tucker couldn’t resist adding,” Do you feel like jumping my bones?” Even through the helmets, he could see the flat glare she leveled on him. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Good call,” she said. “Let’s head back to the Pelican and report in.”

Ten feet outside the Temple doors, Tucker realized the swooping sensation in his gut wasn’t nerves.

“Um, Kimball?” He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the cottony feeling in his mouth and throat. “I ... I think I forgot about something.”

She looked back. “What could you possib–” She stopped when she saw him leaning heavily against one of the pillars. “Tucker.”

“Don’t!” He held up one hand, stopping her from coming any closer. “I, uh, I don’t think –” the laugh he let out was high-pitched and a little hysterical “– I don’t think I count as fully human. Not after Junior.”

“If this is some kind of joke,” she growled.

“Gee, thanks, _Vanessa,_ ” he snapped. God, it was getting hard to breathe. “When have you heard me not take ‘Go to hell,’ for an answer?”

She was quiet for a moment. He could change that. No. Bad Tucker. Think unsexy thoughts. Think of Sarge and his crazy killer robot. Think of Caboose trying to cook. Think of Felix stabbing him.

Shit, now he wanted “we survived!” sex.

His HUD pinged to tell him she was accessing his vitals. Good. Now she could see just how fucking hot he was. Bow-chicka-

_No!_

He almost didn’t hear her approach over his panting. “I’m sorry, Tucker. You’re right.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he curled his own into fists before he grabbed her. “You stay here. I'm going to talk to Santa.”

He whined a little when she pulled away. Fuckberries, he should have remembered about that whole “alien chimera” thing. It had just never been an issue before.

He focused on breathing slowly. Kimball had told him to stay put. He could do that. Just had to breathe. Had to–

The jungle air should not have felt that cool against his skin. He dropped his helmet and slid down the pillar until his back was pressed against it. The temptation to pull all his armor off and start jerking off right then was almost overwhelming. Tucker rested his head back against the pillar, fisting his hands in the moss. He’d rather they were fis–

“ _Dammit!_ ” He threw his head back, slamming it against the pillar. The pain distracted him momentarily, so he did it again. Maybe if he knocked himself out, this bullshit would wear off before he woke up. So he did it again.

Or, he tried to. There was a hand cradling the back of his head. Tucker pried open his eyes.

Kimball studied him, her head cocked to one side. “Are you _trying_ to give yourself a concussion?”

God, her fingers felt good in his hair. Tucker didn’t realize he was leaning into her grip until he was almost nuzzling her wrist. “Thought I could sleep it off,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

Kimball’s hand tightened in his hair when he tried to pull away, dragging a whimper from his throat. “Sleeping for a week is usually Grif’s thing.”

“A _week_?” His eyes flew back open.

“I’m kidding. It should wear off by tomorrow.” Tucker whimpered again as she finally pulled her hand back.

“Fucking hell.” He dropped his head back, gently this time; she probably wouldn’t let him off with just a spanking if he hurt himself. _That_ image had him screwing his eyes shut and smothering a groan. “The gang is never going to let me live this down. _Wash_ is never going to let me live this down. And _Church_ …”

Thoughts of Epsilon and his bullshit attempt at a “heroic sacrifice” distracted Tucker for a few moments. Wash had been so furious he’d refused to acknowledge the AI’s existence for a week. Training with the two Freelancers had been awkward as hell until Wash and Church finally had it out.

Tucker didn’t know what they’d shrieked at each other, but apparently they’d lanced _something_ between them. Now when they weren’t pissed at each other, they were two peas in a pod. The two of them would just bounce off each other and _never_ let him forget this.

Kimball grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. “We still need to report in. And you need to stay where I can keep an eye on you.”

“So you like to wa– dammit!” He grabbed his hair and pulled sharply. “Sorry! Just– Kimball. _Vanessa._ I can’t– I don’t–” He whimpered again, swaying on his feet.

He didn’t know what showed on his face, but her whole demeanor changed as she straightened from retrieving his helmet. “Tucker. Pelican. _Now._ ”

The steel in her tone sent a shiver down his spine.

He didn’t pay much attention to Kimball phoning home from the pilot’s seat; too much of his focus was needed to just to lean on the ohshit bars and _not_ strip off everything. He’d managed to catch an “I haven’t shot or strangled him yet,” and he wanted to keep it that way.

Fuck, he hoped she hadn’t told him how _stupid_ he’d been.

“I told Base we’re going to stay here for a few hours, in case there are side effects and we need to reverse everything. And yes, I know we can’t, but they don’t. At least not yet.”

Tucker giggled hysterically again. “S-s-side ef-ef-fects,” he hiccuped. “That’s one way to put it.” He dropped to the floor and laid his head on the seat. “Howzzit goin’ back there?”

Kimball crouched down next to him. “Dr. Grey says the field targeted all the animals we hoped it would. The chickens are apparently the funniest to watch.” She brushed his hair back, and he didn’t bother trying not to nuzzle her hand before it pulled away this time. “And she inadvertently confirmed what Santa said to me; it wears off faster …” she took a deep breath, “… if you stop trying to fight it.”

The words made sense, individually, but combined … Tucker stared at her blankly.

“I’m saying we can get this out of your system before we have to leave,” she huffed, looking down and to the side a bit. “I said anything that went wrong would be my responsibility and …”

Tucker couldn’t help it; he started laughing so hard he had to curl up on the floor to make the pain stop. “D-d-d-did you j-j-just offer to f-f-f-fuck me to s-s-s-s-save my rep?” His brain and his dick were conspiring to show him – in vivid detail – how that would go, so he just curled even tighter, dragging his thoughts out of the gutter. He was only marginally successful.

“I could just leave you here, you know,” she snapped. Kimball pulled her helmet off to look him in the eye. The flush on her cheeks could be embarrassment or anger; either way, it looked good on her. “You _know_ half the team, if not all of them, would pile into the Pelican to come get you. I’m sure _that_ would work out so _well_.”

The problem with a good imagination was it tended to offer up the horrible situations as easily as the fun ones. Picturing _that_ helped cut through the fog a little. “You don’t have to–”

“I _know_ I don’t. This isn’t permanent, the only damage would be to your ego, and frankly you could stand to have that punctured a bit. But I knew you had an alien son. It’s just as much my fault for not asking if that would make a difference. So I’m _offering_ to help fix this.”

Tucker looked up at her, eyes roving over her … well, _everything_. Slowly, he nodded.

 

Tucker buckled himself into the co-pilot’s seat. “Hey, Kimball?”

She glanced up from her pre-flight checks. Their helmets and armor were back in place, but they weren’t enough to hide the tension in her shoulders. “What?”

“Just … thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Literally. Ever.”

Tucker snorted. “No worries. I remember where the lake is.”

It was quiet, but Kimball had a nice laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, the Universe conspired to prevent writing of the actual "helping". Ah well, c'est la vie
> 
> Tucker got partially whammied due to [microchimerism](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microchimerism) via Junior
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://arirashkae.tumblr.com/post/159635307291/touch-me-and-youll-sink)


End file.
